


In Cold Blood

by etamine



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Eating Disorders, FP's a veteran, Gen, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Penny is evil, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Serpents love each other, Whump, post 2.21, riverdale's resident therapist is gonna be loaded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etamine/pseuds/etamine
Summary: Post 2x21. FP finds Jughead, and his recovery is not so smooth.





	1. Finding and Keeping

FP was breathless as he reached the clearing, ankles aching from near stumbles as he’d run through Fox Forest. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, a crackling coming from the dying fire in the centre of the god-awful place.

 

It felt like his heart cracked in two as he heard it – wet, raspy, choked breaths coming from behind the knocked over camping chairs – but it also felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Dead kids didn’t make those noises.

 

He almost felt drunk as he ran over, almost bar for there being no warm, sickly sweet, pillowy feeling in his brain like that which came from whiskey. His feet felt like they were disconnected from his body, every muscle feeling at least three times heavier as he threw himself down on his knees next to the lump that was his _boy_. His stupid, naïve, idealistic, brilliantly fucking brave boy.

 

Memories of his time in the army flashed back as he tried his best to keep Jughead’s airway open. Airway, Breathing, Circulation, treat the biggest threat to life first. It had been drilled into them from basic training. In the field he hadn’t been the one doing it – his calloused, worn hands better for holding a gun than trying to heal – and there was a sick feeling in his stomach as he felt how sharp and glasslike his son’s jaw felt in his hands as he held it forward, trying to keep his airway open for him to try and draw some air in. It didn’t feel like his lanky, almost 6’0” son. He felt smaller than that – how the fuck did Jug at sixteen feel smaller than Jug at thirteen? He’d seemed bigger in the drunken haze that had caused Gladys to flee Riverdale with Jellybean in the night, and had left Jughead alone with him and a black eye.

 

Breathing. Jughead was breathing. It wasn’t great, and his chest seemed to be moving like a see saw rather than in sync, but he was breathing. It was when he was looking down his chest for any other sign of when he saw that the waistband of his boy’s jeans wasn’t around his hips anymore. He didn’t dare look any further down than that. Penny called herself a snake charmer, but FP knew first hand that she didn’t charm. She pinned people down and took what she wanted.

 

His hands were shaking as he reached for Jughead’s arm to try and feel his pulse, bile rising in his throat as he felt the familiar wet sticking of blood covering his skin. A pulse was there, but it was weak, and more of a flutter a pounding now. His serpent tattoo was gone, instead there was a gouged out hole.

 

Fuck, his boy needed help.

 

He shifted, his mind thankfully blocking out the moment he had to pull Jughead’s jeans back up over blood covered legs, and then he was running with a far too light, rasping boy in his arms. Back to the serpents, back to where he hoped to god someone had brought a fucking car.  

 

He’d slowed to a walk as he finally reached the end of the trees, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw them there waiting for his boy.

 

He didn’t have time to speak to them though, instead he took off running again, straight to the van that someone had thought to bring. He set down Jughead in the back, his voice not even sounding like his own as he heard himself shouting to whoever was in the front to just get them to the fucking hospital, _please_ , get them there, and his arm feeling like it was held up by strings as it shoved anyone who tried to get near his son away. He wasn’t letting anybody near him who wasn’t medically fucking qualified.

 

His friends were too emotional, would want to hold him, would want to move him when he desperately needed to be kept still. His knees were wet with the blood that had continued to come from god knows where – his arm, most likely, his brain supplied – and the metallic smell was filling his nostrils.

 

Time felt like it stood still. He knew it couldn’t be silent in the back of that van – they were hurtling down the pothole filled streets of the southside after all – but th only things he could hear were Jughead’s rasps and the occasional soft groan from the lad’s lips.

 

After what felt like a lifetime, there was light flooding into the back of the van, the squeak of the wheels of a stretcher, and a hand on his back. His son was whipped away, flanked by white coats instead of serpent jackets for once, and he was led into a waiting room.

 

Honestly? He wanted everyone out of that fucking waiting room so badly. He’d never meant to let his only son – his _boy_ – get involved with any of this shit, and the teenage serpents, Betty with her ex serpent mother, Archie Andrews with his fucked relationship with Hiram Lodge, the Blossom girl, were all reminders that his son had got way too deep and was lucky to not be six feet under.

 

His hands were still shaking, so he sat on them to try and still them, staring at nothing but the door Jughead been taken through.

 


	2. Waking Up

Morphine felt a lot like being in a big bed with way too many covers, thought Jughead. It was an uncomfortable, but not unwelcome weight on his chest, feeling too hot but not being upset by it at all, and a cooling wave of sweat on his skin. He’d been in and out, he knew that much, but not for how long, nor how many times. It was like time didn’t exist outside his opiate cocoon, nothing but him and darkness, and then would come the rushing feeling of pain coming back when it was wearing off.

 

Normally, he’d let himself be dragged back under when the pain came back. No point in fighting it when his body wanted him to go back, it wanted to protect him to whatever mess he was waking up to.

 

Not this time though. This time the rush came, his arm burning, his breaths making it feel knives were pressing into him (again, he thought dully). There was a shrill, incessant beeping, some machine wanting to be turned off most likely, and _oh fuck_ , there was something down his throat, he couldn’t fucking do this, not again –

 

He could feel whatever was down his throat being pulled out, a warm feeling spreading through his arm, and someone’s hands in his hair shushing right next to his ear. His dad? His dad hadn’t shushed him or stroked his hair since before he went off the deep end, but the fingers were too rough to be anybody else’s. Motorbike worn.

 

“Boy? They’re giving you something… _fuck_ – shit, I’m sorry nurse – I’m just so glad…”

 

It definitely was his dad then, but he couldn’t keep listening to what was being said. He was focused on the warm feeling in his arm, tracking up into his neck, and hoping and praying it would go up into his head, take it over, blanket his mind from dealing with any of this.

 

But it didn’t. It stopped just short, muffling everything, making it hurt less, but he was still definitely awake. Resigning himself to that, he did his best to open his eyes once he’d heard the beeping stop. One was firmly stuck shut, it wasn’t opening no matter what he tried, but he managed to get the other open just enough to see that it was indeed his dad at his bedside. He could feel his dad’s fingers wrapped around his hand, squeezing it tight, and when he looked at his face he could see that he’d been crying.

 

Tear tracks didn’t look right on his dad’s face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him cry before – not when mom and Jellybean had left, not when he’d been taken to prison, not even during his drunken breakdowns. But here he was, crying, and it seemed he had been for a while.

 

“Dad?” he managed to rasp out, not wanting to see his dad’s shoulders continue to shake. The sight was making his stomach turn, his dad’s shaking was normally reserved for alcohol withdrawal and although he knew that wasn’t the case this time (although, how long had he been out? Long enough for him to relapse again?) it still set off the same reaction.

 

His breath caught as his dad finally looked him in the eyes, and he noted that his hand started to shake in his hair.

 

“I’m here, I’m here, it’s just you and me boy, we’ve got you the best fucking doctor,” his dad started, leaning over him and touching him like he was glass rather than man. Something had to be wrong, because his dad’s touches were usually tight, one armed hugs, not weird shaking hands and touching him like he was going to break. His sentences weren’t rambles, unless he was drunk and telling him stories about people who’d died in action, anecdotes about how much he used to love his mom, stories that didn’t mean anything and yet meant everything to his dad at the same time.

 

What the fuck had happened? Maybe it was the painkillers, but it felt like he remembered snippets rather than a whole. He remembered going, calling Betty, shutting off his phone…

 

Punches and kicks. Someone had stamped on his face. Hearing his own screams, which he hadn’t realised were coming out of his mouth. The sharp, cold pain of a knife hacking at his arm. Penny pulling down his jeans, Malachi’s cock pressing against his lips –

 

He felt bile rising, and within seconds he was grabbing onto his dad for dear life as he vomited, and vomited, and vomited. He could hear the shit Malachi had said as he’d done the same with his jaw aching, choking on him, and his scalp screaming in protest as he was held up by his hair alone.

 

“Boy, Jug - somebody fucking help him! – I’m here, it’s alright, shh, shh kiddo,” he could hear his dad trying to soothe, moving to hold him tightly against his chest. The scent of smoke, and sweat, and his own blood faded from his nostrils, replaced by the familiar smell of leather and cheap hair gel. He was with his dad. He wasn’t near the docks in Fox Forest any longer.

 

“Mr Jones?” asked a nurse after a few minutes of him being held close. Reluctantly, he let go of his dad, let her clean him up and dress him in a fresh hospital gown while his dad went to change into a scrub top they’d handed him. But as soon as his dad was back, he was clinging right onto his hand again, hoping to god that the steady warmth of his dad’s fingers would still his own trembling ones.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dad?” he said, finally feeling up to asking after a few hours. He still felt on edge, each nurse that came in to check his vitals sending his heart racing for a good hour after. Any touch but his dads made him feel sick, violated. He’d nothing left in his stomach, and when he’d found his retching was in vain, he’d instinctively started to pick at the skin around his cannula until his dad had grabbed that hand firmly too. It was bandaged now, kept out of sight.

 

“Yeah?” he dad answered, looking over at him tiredly. He hadn’t left since he’d had to get changed, the bags under his eyes and the pallor of his skin making the mint green scrubs he had on look cartoonish on him. Like one of those grayscale photographs with a brightly coloured paint splatter on them.

 

“Did you… did you get them?” he asked, his voice cracking. He hoped to god that his dad had. It wasn’t in his deal with Hiram, but most of the shit that had happened wasn’t either. His face fell when he saw his dad shift in his chair.

 

“Jug… I found you after, I –“ his dad started, and then tears were starting to fall again, and Jughead’s stomach was in knots at the thought of the state his dad must have found him in.


	3. Moving Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fred is the only one who knows how to handle anything in riverdale

Archie Andrews let out a sigh as he made his way through the halls of the hospital, up to the third floor where Jughead had been moved to a few days prior.

 

He hadn’t been able to see his best friend yet. It had been family only until Jughead woken up, understandably. But after that, Jughead had become ill once again, an infection from one of his many injuries crossing into his bloodstream. He’d found out when he went to Jughead’s ward and found an empty, freshly made bed, his name wiped off the board above it. Fangs Fogarty had given him his second heart attack in two minutes when he’d piped up from another bed on the ward, stunningly alive, and told him that Jughead had been moved and given him the heads up on where to go.

 

FP Jones was hardly known for having an even temper and for being the most rational of people. But now, he was picking fights with people just for the sake of getting out some of his frustration, and it had the medical and nursing teams on tenterhooks around him. He looked like a man possessed – if he wasn’t beside Jughead’s bed, roaring at anybody who dared touch his son for a second longer than necessary, he was pacing endlessly in the waiting room outside. The serpents that had been delivering him food and fresh clothing and guarding the room their serpent prince was lay in had become concerned.

 

And so, Fred Andrews had sent Archie along with the beanie that Sweet Pea had managed to find, that Alice had laundered and darned to look how it had before, and a strict order to go home and crash for a minimum for six hours. Archie couldn’t say that he felt it was going to go down well, but he could see the rationale.

 

* * *

 

 

Convincing FP to leave had been difficult, but it still wasn’t as difficult as seeing Jughead lay in a hospital bed with tubes and sensors hooked up to him. He’d looked god awful in the forest, but the blood that had been covering him had possibly done him a favour. The scraps of skin that weren’t covered in bruises were a sickly grey right now, so much so that the oxygen mask he had on almost blended in. An eye was still swollen completely shut, and Archie didn’t even want to think what the brightly coloured warning wristbands on his arms were actually telling the staff.

 

He let out a shaky sigh, moving to try and top Jug’s head with his crown beanie once again, and his stomach twisted when he saw bald patches where his hair had been ripped clean out. He shifted the grey fabric slightly, doing his best to cover them.

 

Whoever had done this to his best friend was going to fucking pay.

 

Jughead tensed as he put the beanie atop his head, eyes opening. The blue of his eyes was stark against the grey and purple and yellow of his skin, and they seemed glassy and not quite focused.

 

“Hiram,” Jughead croaked out, his hand weakly looking for something to grab onto. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been shouting for hours (maybe he has, thinks Archie dimly. He was pretty sure FP could sleep almost anywhere, but perhaps not next to his screaming son).

 

“What are you talking about dude?” asked Archie, taking his hand and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “They’ve really got you hopped up on painkillers, huh?” He was trying to make light of the situation, he knew he was. His best friend was lay in front of him looking like death warmed up, mumbling about Hiram Lodge. If he let that sink in he was going to break down, and he was meant to be the one sitting next to Jughead, keeping him safe until FP was rested enough to take his spot in that shitty hospital chair right back.

 

“Hiram… he paid,” said Jughead weakly, doing his best to focus his eyes on Archie. “For this.”

 

Archie furrowed his eyebrows, trying to work out if that meant what he thought it had meant. Did Veronica know about this?  “Wait, Jug,” he said, other hand coming to play with the hospital bands on Jughead’s wrists. “Hiram planned this? What happened to you, I mean?” His stomach sank when he got an ‘Uh-huh’ back.

 

He'd been working with that fucker.

 

* * *

 

 

Archie ran his thumbnail over the cold metal of his knife as he approached the front door of the Pembrooke, jaw set and teeth clenched. He’d made sure Veronica was out, sent her on some bullshit task to pick up some clothes that Jughead wasn’t conscious enough to be aware he might need.  Anything to keep her out of the house – he knew she wouldn’t have known jack shit about her dad’s dealings with Penny Peabody and Malachi, and certainly wouldn’t have known that he’d paid them to almost kill Jughead.

 

He knew Andre was dead, he knew that Hermione would be gone, sorting some final thing out before her inevitable election. He knew that Ronnie would be away for an hour or more. He also knew that he didn’t have long, he knew that getting into that fucking study would be a difficult task and so, so fucking necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know how hard it was to not use the phrase "make my bones" at the end there


	4. Snakes In A Barrel

 FP was exhausted in every single sense of the word.

 

The doctors had managed to pull Jughead back from the brink, beat down whatever infection had sent him back to intensive care. The physical improvement had come with his boy having more energy though, and sleep wasn’t masking what was actually going on in his head any longer.

 

He honestly didn’t know what to do with him. One minute he was being screamed at, every shitty thing he’d ever done being dragged up, every missed school event, every time he’d scared his kids, a blow by blow replay of the night that had led up to Gladys running. He’d get screamed at to leave, told to just fuck off out of his life, and he was ashamed to say that more than once, his hand had actually reached the door handle to go.

 

As soon as it did though, Jug would be sobbing, screaming, and clinging right onto him again. He’d be apologising and sobbing into his chest, his whole body shaking as he held him. He wouldn’t eat, would barely sleep, and definitely wouldn’t talk about whatever the hell was going on inside his head.

 

The last time he’d left Jug alone, to try and call Gladys to tell her what had happened (she’d said no to coming, and would put down the phone within a minute or two, but at least she’d kept Jughead signed up to her health insurance, he guessed) he’d been gone for five minutes. He’d come back to Jug screaming, vomit down the front of his hospital gown as a nurse tried to give him something in his IV to calm him down.

 

He was managing to leave Jughead with his friends occasionally. But it was weird to see – he’d come back after an hour, finding his son speaking almost normally to them, sitting almost normally, behaving in a way that was almost contained. Within five minutes of them leaving though, the screaming and yelling and sobbing would be back, and it’d start all over again.

 

Jughead’s eyes were closed, a rare moment where he’d slipped off to sleep watching some stupid daytime TV show, and FP didn’t dare move for fear of waking him. He was reminded of when he was a child, his father out stone cold on the couch, a belt tightly clenched in his hand despite the amount of alcohol in his system meaning he shouldn’t have been able to have that much muscle coordination any more.

 

His silent, still act was ruined when his phone started blaring though, and he let out a groan and frantically tried to shut it off before his son started to move. When he saw it was Sweet Pea though, he shuffled out of the room, keeping the door half open so Jug would know that he hadn’t actually left.

 

“FP? Fuck, you need to get down to the Wyrm, the Andrews kid has brought Penny,” Sweet Pea sounded frantic. “People are losing their shit.”

 

Wait – _Archie_ had brought her? What the fuck had he missed?

 

“I’ll be there,” said FP, eyes darting back through the door to his son. “I need to get someone to come here with him, he can’t be alone. But I’ll be there. Where is she?”

 

“We’ve got her tied down,” said Sweet Pea, his voice thick. “He – he just brought her in, and we know who she’s with, so we tied her up.”

 

At least they had some kind of sense. He needed to get down there fast though, he still didn’t know who could be trusted and who couldn’t. He needed to get payback for the shit that Penny had done, maybe if he did, Jughead might settle. Maybe he might feel a little bit safer in this shitty, shitty world.

 

“Give me twenty minutes,” said FP before hanging up and reaching to get his jacket from just inside Jughead’s door. Who the fuck could he grab to watch Jughead? Not Archie, obviously, and he didn’t keep the numbers of teenage girls in his phone so he couldn’t exactly get hold of Betty.

 

He looked back at the door, chewing the inside of his cheek. His boy was still asleep, maybe he’d get away with it? Maybe he wasn’t going to wake, or maybe he’d come back to him needing to be sedated lest he end up hitting a nurse in his panic. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away though, he needed to deal with Penny. Penny who’d left his son for dead, who’d hacked away his serpent tattoo, who’d left his boy a screaming, angry shell.

 

Fuck, he needed to go. He’d find someone on the way, he’d make sure he had someone up to Jughead as soon as he could, his friends had seemed to be around the Wyrm way more than underage kids should be. Maybe he could call Fred? But then there was the reason why – because his son had somehow got the snake charmer tied up in a bar on the south side.

 

He made his way out of the hospital, mentally cursing the fact he hadn’t brought his bike. He took off running instead. He was going to get there, and he was going to make her fucking pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter count where it was really tempting to say "make my bones": 2


	5. Gang Bang

The run to the Whyte Wyrm had done absolutely nothing to calm FP’s nerves, and neither did the scene he walked in to.

 

Archie Andrews looked ashen, sat on a barstool with his head in his hands. It was the face of a kid who was in way over his head, where emotion and anger had kicked any sort of logical thought out of his brain temporarily. He knew he’d fucked up.

 

FP could relate, he’d been there before.

 

“Red,” he started, making his way over to him. He had to figure out what the fuck was going on before he went in, all guns blazing. How had Archie ended up getting Penny here?

 

“Mr Jones,” said Archie, eyes panicked as he looked up at him at last. “They- they were in a meeting, and _he_ planned this, and she was coming in so-“ He was lucky really that he’d managed to get that much out of the boy before he burst out crying. Fuck, Archie Andrews wasn’t built for this kind of shit.

 

“You got her though. And nobody saw you?” checked FP, putting a hand on Archie’s shoulder as he shook his head. “Then you did good. Go to the hospital, go sit with my boy. He needs you there. I’ll deal with the rest.”

 

He gave Archie a clap on his back as he got up, watching to make sure he did actually leave the Wyrm. He let out a sigh of relief when he did, going up to the bar to speak to Hog Guy. “So where is she?”

 

“Basement,” Hog Guy replied, nodding to the door downstairs. “The boys tied her up. You want anyone to go down with ya?”

 

FP shook his head. He didn’t need any witnesses for this, he didn’t want the others hearing what exactly she’d done to his precious son. There were more than enough people here who disliked the snake charmer, he’d let them have her once he was done.

 

Patting down his pockets to remind himself of what was in there, he made his way to the door to the basement. He cracked his knuckles as he took a deep breath to steady himself, before opening the door.

 

“I swear to fucking god, I’m going to get all of you killed!” called Penny as he swung open the door, and FP’s hand immediately went to his pocket, fingers curling around the cool metal of his switchblade. Just in case.

 

“Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he laughed, slamming the door shut behind him and turning on the light. “You thought you were going to get away with the shit you did to my son?” His voice didn’t even really sound like his own, it was like another persona had taken over, while he was watching from inside the serpent king mask he was wearing.  

 

Penny let out a hollow laugh then, throwing her head back as he got closer. “Of course I fucking did. I got away with it when I did it to you, didn’t I?” The bitch had a fucking smile on her face as she said it, and it made anger flare inside him. There was a sickening crack as he slapped her, his palm burning for a few moments after.

 

“You,” said Penny, looking up at him darkly. “Are so fucking screwed. You don’t even know what’s going on in this fucking town. Didn’t you try him out first?”

 

He almost felt like his arm wasn’t attached as he hit her again, just saw it flying in front of his eye, felt a snap in one of his knuckles when his fist collided with her, heard the sound of flesh eating flesh.

 

“Is this for you, or for him?” Penny laughed, though her voice was laced with pain. His hands shot forward, wrapping around her neck, squeezing her throat, his eyes filling with tears as he watched her struggle and the colour of her lips change from pink to blue.

 

And then there was the sound of the door flinging open, one of the serpents grabbing his arm and telling him that they needed to get out, _right now_ , and he was being pulled away with Penny’s laughs ringing in his ears. “I fucking told you!” was the last thing he heard from her, before he was being tugged onto the back of someone’s bike. Sirens were blaring, flashes of blue and red, and as he looked back at the Wyrm he could see it becoming engulfed in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if FP is not in a bigger mess at the end of the chapter than he was at the start then it's a WASTE *bangs fist on table*


	6. Aftermath

Jughead wasn’t entirely sure when the person in his room had stopped being his dad, and had started being Archie. He’d waken in a haze, the sound of the hospital TV pulling him gently from dreamless sleep, and Archie had been sobbing next to him.

 

“Arch?” he asked, reaching to try and touch his arm. It was painful, his upper arm screaming in protest at the movement, and touching another person’s skin still felt like his fingers were burning, but somehow touching Archie was less confusing than not.

 

“Jug, I –“ started Archie, and then he was crying again, and leaning his head on the bed, and the newfound closeness both gave Jughead a warm feeling in his stomach and made his skin feel like it was burning, like something black was rising up the layers of his skin and making his hands shake.

 

“What happened Arch?” he asked, feeling acid rise up in his throat and then quickly swallowing it down. There were so many questions he wanted to ask – why was Archie crying, what had he missed while he’d been sleeping, where the hell had his dad gone?

 

“Penny, I,” sniffed Archie, and Jughead’s heart was racing, the bile creeping back up, his hand shaking as he held onto the redhead’s hand. It was as though the room had suddenly become smaller, and darker, and like there was a weight on his chest that he just couldn’t shift.

 

“Did she do anything to you?” he asked, his voice clipped and his hand shaking still. Maybe Archie wouldn’t notice, his friend’s back was shaking enough as he cried.

 

“What? No, dude, I,” said Archie, taking a deep breath as he kept his face buried in the pillow. “I took her. From Mr Lodge’s place, I took her to the Wyrm, and I don’t know what’s going to happen but I’m involved and your dad’s got her now and…”

 

Jughead felt like his head was spinning. His dad had that evil, evil bitch? He didn’t know what he wanted his dad to do to her. He wanted her to suffer, like he was stuck suffering every day because of what she’d done, wanted her to feel bile creeping upwards, wanted her to feel like whichever room in the Wyrm she was in was growing smaller and smaller. At the same time though, he couldn’t risk having his dad taken away from him – it was scary enough having the man gone temporarily right now, never mind forever – and this time, he’d have actually murdered someone, and Cheryl Blossom wouldn’t be able to be blackmailed to fix it.

 

“Did- did you see what he was doing?” he asked in a strained voice. He couldn’t lose his dad again, he just couldn’t.

 

“No, he sent me away,” sighed Archie, shaking his head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why would his dad send Archie away unless he was going to do something he shouldn’t? Panic was creeping up his spine, the weight on his chest getting heavier, it was harder to breathe, the shadows in the corners of the room getting bigger and scarier, Penny and Malachi were over him, his hair being pulled up again   –

 

And then there were Archie’s arms around him, a crushing warm weight, his best friend whispering into his ear that he was okay, he was fine, fingers combing through his curls.  After a period that felt like a lifetime, he could breathe again.

 

“Jug,” said Archie, and after thinking about it he realised that Archie had stopped shaking and that he’d started up instead. “How often have you been getting like this? You were shouting, and you were pulling at your tubes and stuff.” Had he been shouting? He didn’t think he had, he hadn’t heard himself shout, but why would Archie say he had been if he hadn’t? He could feel blood on his hand, and a look down at it told him that he definitely had yanked his cannula out, so Archie was right there.

                      

And how often had he been getting like this? He didn’t know, it all seem to blur into one. “A couple of times again,” he answered finally, sagging into Archie more. It was a safe enough answer, he knew it had to be a couple of times a day at least. “I… don’t even know it’s happening. My dad gets the brunt of it, I think.”

 

He knew that much was true, anyway. If anxiety wasn’t making him feel sick enough these days, the guilt of how shit he’d been with his dad certainly took care of that. There was so much guilt these days, so much shame – he’d let those evil fucks do this to him, he’d driven his mom and Jellybean away, he’d been awful to his dad, who had stuck around the most. It made it feel like his stomach was rotting with it.

 

 “Dude,” sighed Archie finally, holding him tighter. “We need to get you some help. We need to try, anyway. They’re not going to let you go home like this.”

 

Honestly, Jughead didn’t know if he even wanted to go home. Too many people knew where the serpent king lived, where _he_ lived, and the land right underneath their trailer was owned by Hiram Lodge himself. No way was that safe.

 

Still, he nodded anyway, resting his head on Archie’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> riverdale does not give anyone enough jarchie and thems the facts


	7. Walls Have Ears

Veronica frowned as she entered the Pembrooke, reaching over to turn the lights on. She was sure it shouldn’t be this quiet, even with Andre gone (and now lay on a metal slab in Riverdale’s morgue). She set her bags down near the door, her heels clicking as she walked through to the main lounge.

 

She frowned when she heard voices coming from the study, and she kicked her shoes off quickly to avoid the hardwood floors giving her away. Her heart was pounding as she moved close to the door, pressing her ear up against it. She couldn’t help but fear that her daddy would push it open any second, that he’d automatically know she was there, that he’d be able to smell her or hear her heartbeat or something equally unlikely (but at the same time he always just _knew_ and she’d always known her dad wasn’t like other people’s).

 

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard a woman’s voice – most definitely not her mother’s – in his office, and it felt like there was static in her ears. Why did her dad have another woman in there, was it his payback for her mother’s tryst with Mr Andrews, his October surprise?

 

She snapped back to reality when she heard Jughead’s name mentioned among the muffled speech from inside. There were three – maybe four? – voices in there, not just her daddy and the woman, which assuaged her nerves slightly. Daddy might have been every shitty adjective in the book, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t an exhibitionist. She pressed her ear to the door a little harder, trying to figure out what on earth was actually being said.

 

“… fucking strangled …” said the woman, and she could hear the thud of a fist hitting her daddy’s desk.

 

“… should have killed him… it’d be one less…” came her daddy’s voice next, and she furrowed her eyebrows. Her daddy didn’t kill with mercenaries, she knew that much. It was shadowy, like him, a car crash on a quiet country road, a drunken fall into a river, a house fire. Nobody else near whatever tragic event befell his victim.

 

Her daddy sounded more like a bogeyman than anything else, she thought idly.

 

“…the Andrews boy…” spoke another male voice, and her heart stopped. Archie was involved in this? His stupid apprenticeship had led to his name being brought up in discussions where her daddy was talking about how people should have been killed? Conversations where Jughead’s name was being mentioned mixed in with all of that? That he was having right below that god awful portrait of her?

 

She took a step away from the door, going back to her bags and fishing her phone out of her handbag. She chewed her lip anxiously as she texted Archie.

 

‘Where are you Archiekins? xxx’

 

She made sure the phone was on silent before going back to the door, listening for a tell tale beep that he was in there.

 

“…arrest FP for arson…” said the woman, and Veronica’s heart caught in her throat. What exactly did her dad and his mysterious associates have against FP? Jughead had been a minor annoyance to him with his crusade for the southside, sure, but enough to frame his dad? While he was in the hospital after a gang fight? It had been hard enough seeing Jughead the last time FP had gone to prison for a crime he didn’t actually commit, and she liked to think they were closer now. And although she hadn’t been able to see him yet, she knew that he was surely more vulnerable than then now.

 

She opened the camera on her phone, holding it close to the door in the hopes that it’d pick the sound up. The sheriff would surely want to know that her daddy and his associates were plotting. It’d vindicate FP.

 

But then, she heard the sheriff himself saying, “he can be the first prisoner… private prison!” and her daddy’s laughter mixed in the others that followed the sentence, and her stomach twisted. How far through Riverdale had her daddy’s toxic venom spread now? It was like a twisted game of monopoly where her daddy held all the blue properties – the mayor’s office, the sheriff, and the prison that anybody who crossed him would be locked up in.

 

“…if you’d actually succeeded… killing Jughead Jones…”

 

“He wasn’t breathing when we left him,” came the woman’s voice, a little louder in protest, and oh god, Veronica truly did feel sick. Like how she’d felt after one of her party/tantrums, like how she’d felt when her daddy had been convicted, like how she’d felt with her fingers down her throat in the bathrooms at Spence.

 

She looked down, checking that the phone was still recording this. God, she hoped it could actually pick up the faint voices, that her stupid ties to this mafia underworld would actually help someone for once.

 

Archie’s reply came then, ‘Hospital with Jug xxx’, and she could hear the movement of a chair being slid back inside the study, and she shut the camera off. She moved as quickly as she could to pull her shoes back on, went and racked her bags up quickly over her arms, and left the apartment. She needed to get out of this house, she needed to warn FP, and she hoped to God that she’d manage before daddy struck.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiram's a daddy alright


	8. A Comedy of Errors

Archie wasn’t sure how long he’d been lay holding Jughead close in the bed, but he was damned sure that he wasn’t planning on moving any time soon.

 

The confines of Jughead’s room were like a security blanket in a way, the walls and drapes over the window managing to block out the outside world. There was one core problem to deal with here – that Jughead wasn’t well, and he wasn’t coping – and somehow dealing with that problem, even though it was a big problem that he knew was going to get worse soon, seemed a lot more simple than dealing with everything that was going on outside.

 

He shifted slightly, keeping his eyes carefully on Jughead to make sure that he didn’t stir from his sleep.  When his breathing remained steady, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

 

Until the door opened up, that is, and his arm tensed around Jughead instinctively.

 

 “Ronnie?” he asked, carefully worming his arm out from under Jughead to sit up when Veronica walked in. He made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

 

“Daddy’s a monster,” she sobbed, burying her head into his chest. Fuck, didn’t he know it. “He- he, he did all of this! And he lied right to my face!”

 

It broke his heart honestly, thinking how naïve Veronica had been about the monster who sired her. She’d defended him, she’d taken his words as truth, she’d got herself in deep and let him use her name for whatever dealings he’d needed. And yeah, she’d taken back some control this year, but a man like Hiram Lodge was always one step ahead.  God only knew what kind of shit her name and signature was actually on right now.

 

And God only knew what the fuck he’d been doing running around as Hiram’s lapdog for the past few weeks. How much material would Hiram have on him?

 

“Veronica?” came Jughead’s tired voice from the bed behind him, and Archie felt his stomach turn.

 

“Jug, oh my God,” said Veronica, and Archie felt like everything was moving in slow motion as he watched her make her way over to him. “I’m so sorry, about you, your dad, and –“

 

“My dad? What’s happened to my dad?” asked Jughead, sounding panicked, and Archie was tempted to steal one of the sick bowls from his bedside table. His hands felt numb as he watched Jughead’s breathing quicken, his hands start to tremble, his eyes become wide and wild. “What happened to my dad? What happened?”

 

“Jug,” he tried, but it was too late, Jughead was already descending into a panic attack, Veronica sobbing on the bed next to him, and there was nothing he could do to solve it. It had meant to be easier in this hospital room, and yet it was probably easier outside right now.

 

Veronica let out a shriek when Jughead put his fingers down his throat, looking like he was clawing at it before vomiting profusely on the bed. Then she started sobbing harder, and Archie felt like his heart was going to pound right out of his chest, and everything was just a fucking mess. A giant fucking mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever just get writers block and need to get yourself out of that hole? that's why this chapter is short sorry xoxoxo


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